


See the Mountains Kiss High Heaven

by rufflefeather



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus is too noble for his own good, Esca is too stubborn and they both are completely oblivious.</p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Obviously I own none of this, I just play around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See the Mountains Kiss High Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Written at the eagle_kink for this prompt: Marcus gets a new slave who develops a huge crush on Esca. A humorous cute fic would be nice. Maybe Esca is totally oblivious of the new slave's feelings and/or rather seems him like a brother. 
> 
> Only, it turned out to be angst rather than humor and my slave turned out to be a woman...
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so apologies for all the mistakes and historical inaccuracies! Title and quotes from Love's Philosophy by P.B Shelley.

_"And the sunlight clasps the earth,_

_And the moonbeams kiss the sea -_

_What are all these kissings worth_

_If thou kiss not me?"_

 

_________________________________

 

 

The firm hand is like a vice on Esca’s wiry wrist, but it doesn’t tighten to cause pain, only to arrest.

“This is no longer your task, Esca.” Marcus tells him, when he looks up, hand still hovering over the basin with tepid, soapy water.

“I know,” he tells his former master. “Old habits, I suppose.”

Marcus smiles. “Your breakfast is cooling, I’ll do this.”

He watches him go, and thinks of how far they have come. From pushing against each other, fighting every step of the way, over pain that is mutual and shared. Their journey filled with hardship, a dance on the edge of death until life seemed like a faraway melody, glimpsed only through the mists of a jarring hinterland that still haunts his dreams.

*

“Esca?” Marcus finds him the garden, where he always is this late in the afternoon, feet dangling in the cool stream to wash away the last of the sweltering day. “This is Mira,” he says, when Esca looks up. The girl steps out of Marcus’s shadow, gaze demurely lowered as she curtsies and then stands with her hands clasped in her lap, feet shoulder width apart so she can be inspected.

When understanding dawns on Esca’s face, he darkens with it. It is something Marcus has never seen in anyone else, the way night and day can dusk and dawn on Esca's face like emotions.

“You bought another slave?” he asks, voice low. In one liquid motion, like a cat Marcus thinks, Esca is on his feet. He strides toward the pavilion where a bunch of thick white cloths are neatly folded on the end of a lectus. Before he can bend down to dry his feet, Mira is kneeling at them.

“Don’t,” he tells her. His jaw tenses, twinges and he closes his eyes. “Can we have a word Marcus,” he says without opening them again, “in private.”

“Do you know where the kitchens are?” Marcus asks the girl gently, when she hurries to his side again. Her shoulders are drawn, and he can tell she is trying very hard not to cower.

“Yes Master.”

“Go there now, Mira. I will call for you when we have need of you.”

“Yes Master.” She curtsies and leaves, feet soundless on the pavement into the villa.

“What was that about?” Marcus asks Esca, joining him on the couch where he is angrily rubbing his feet dry.

“You bought a slave,” Esca hisses. “Why did you buy a damned slave?”

“I thought-.” It had seemed like such a good idea, to stop Esca from feeling like he was still inferior to Marcus somehow. He never imagined-. “She can help, around the house. We need someone to do the housekeeping, you know I am not very good at it and you are no longer a slave.”

“No. I am not. But I don’t want to be waited on either. We don’t need slaves Marcus. I don’t want her here.” Esca’s jaw is still tense, the muscle taut, like a challenge to be taken on and smoothed out.

“You know what will happen to her if I send her back,” Marcus tells him softly. “Just think of it as a favor. We will treat her better than most Masters would. You have seen her, she has skin like ebony and eyes like torrential rain. You know what others would do to her.”

Esca rises to his feet, his hands clenched to fists by his sides. “Just make sure you do treat her better,” he says, with a bite to his tone Marcus hasn’t heard since they came home. He watches him walk away, his own mood heavy with guilt although he doesn’t quite understand why.

*

The girl is good. She is quiet and adept, works hard with a confidence suiting years of practice, even though she cannot have seen more than fifteen summers. After a few weeks, she smiles tentatively at Marcus as if she knows to be grateful. She smiles at Esca too, wider, lips parted to reveal large, even white teeth.

Esca never sees.

He hasn’t forgiven Marcus. He doesn’t join him at the pavilion anymore when the sun has gone down and the night air is fragrant with lavender and heavy with mimosa. When the sky is filled with the song of copulating crickets. Somehow, it makes Marcus’s wine taste less sweet.

“Master?”

Marcus looks up. Mira is so very quiet, she could sneak up on an assassin.

“May I speak freely?” she asks.

“Of course,” Marcus tells her, lifting himself on one elbow, indicating she may proceed.

“Why- why does Master Esca dislike me so?” The lilt of her voice is voluptuous with her accent. Even in the moonless night, Marcus can see her skin darken. She shifts from one foot to the other and refuses to look at him. He wouldn’t normally speak like this to a slave, not if he were in Rome. But he isn’t, and his household is far from a normal one.

“He was like you once,” he tells her, and at this she lifts her head. Her eyes are like rain, Marcus thinks, grey like a thunderstorm. “He was a slave. I believe he finds it hard to -.” Marcus sighs, because really, he should have thought of it sooner. After all, he knows so little of the years of Esca’s life before he saw him in the amphitheater. “I believe it reminds him of difficult times.”

“You freed him?” she whispers, awe making her features reverent.

“I did.”

Mira drops to her knees. Her hands reach out, but don’t touch him. “You are a good Master,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

She remains on her knees for a while, until Marcus understands she is waiting to be dismissed. “You may go.”

He watches her retreat, and sees another shape step out of the shadows and back into the house, shoulders a stark line of disapproval.

*

Mira always makes sure the salted bread Esca likes, is still warm when he wakes for breakfast.

*

“I thought we could go for a ride this morning, Esca? While it is still cool?” Marcus says, splitting a dried fig and handing over half to his friend.

Esca grins, even though he tries not to. “I’ll still beat you in a race, and you won’t be able to blame Celer’s sensitivity to the heat this time.”

Marcus laughs, his head falling back, his stomach fluttering when Esca’s voice joins his. He hasn’t heard him laugh in weeks.

“Right then,” Esca tells him, rising to his feet. “I’ll get ready. Thank you Mira.”

She smiles, her eyelashes curling like wings against her cheeks.

*

Mira always makes sure there is lemon balm drifting in the basin by Esca’s bed when he returns at the hottest time during the day.

*

He does beat Marcus, of course he does, although Marcus will insist Celer was fatigued by the heat after all. The horse isn't as young as he used to be, and maybe it is time to break in a colt.

He doesn’t miss the way Mira raises her eyes when Esca walks past her, the way they linger on his back and shoulders, until she sees him watching her and she hurries into the kitchens.

*

Mira always makes sure there is crushed thyme and lavender near Esca’s window, to keep the bugs out of his room.

*

Marcus is lying on his bed, his leg pinching painfully after the ride. He will never be rid of it he thinks, an unwanted memorial he will carry with him until the end of his days.

“Mira?” he calls, when he sees her shadow pass by his door.

“Yes Master?” she asks, a basket of clean laundry tucked under one arm.

“Could you fetch the ointment for my leg please? The one with the eucalyptus.”

“Of course,” she says and disappears.

She returns moments later, without the laundry but with the salve.

“Do you wish me to apply it Master?” she asks.

“Please. Proceed.”

Her small hands are nimble and strong, and seem to find the exact knots in his muscles that need warming up and stretching out. He can’t help the sounds coming out of his mouth.

*

Mira always makes sure she is bathed and fragrant, just in case.

*

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Marcus looks up from where the moonlight kisses the stream, surprised to see Esca appear at the pavilion after so many lonely nights.

“Come,” he says, smiling broadly, making room on his couch so they can lie and watch the stars come alight like they used to. “Have some wine.”

Esca pours himself a goblet and perches on the couch but doesn’t lie down.

“What is the matter?” Marcus asks, suddenly sounding tired, because the darkness still rests between Esca’s brow.

“I wasn’t born into slavery,” Esca says, softly swirling the red liquid between his fingers. “I was a free man.” He falls silent, and Marcus waits. “Can you imagine? I lost everything. My pride, my humanity, my self worth, all in one moment. My people were a proud race. They would have expected me to kill myself rather than fold to the fate handed to me. But I was too much of a weakling. A coward.”

“You are not-“ Marcus interrupts, sitting up and swinging his legs off the couch so he sits shoulder to shoulder to his dearest friend, but Esca holds up a hand, seems to want to talk now that the words have found their way to the surface.

“I was too cowardly so I sank to humiliating depths to stay alive. You have no idea what that did to me. When you saw me in the arena, I was ready to die. I wanted to die, but it had to be at the hands of another. I had no courage to do it myself.”

“Esca,” Marcus sighs, when Esca falls silent and traces the rim of his beaker with a long finger until the night is as oppressive in heat as in silence. “Esca, look at me. What I saw that day, was unparalleled courage. That is what I saw in you, that is why I wanted you to live. It is no cowardice to want to live. It is weak to give up. You have never given up. You would never give up.”

“You said you wouldn’t use her,” Esca suddenly bursts out. He doesn’t spring to his feet, but every single one of his muscles touching Marcus’s side tells him he wants to.

“I didn’t,” Marcus says, not understanding.

“I heard,” Esca hisses between clenched teeth. “I heard you earlier.” He swallows his wine in a big gulp and slams the goblet on the table. When he finally rises to feet, Marcus grabs his arm. Only, Esca’s momentum as he moves away has Marcus’s hand slide down, until it rests in Esca’s palm. He stills, and turns around.

“She rubbed the ache out of my leg,” Marcus says, looking up at him. “Nothing more, I swear.”

It isn’t exactly day that breaks over Esca’s features, but it could be a careful dawn.

*

Mira always makes sure she is in Esca’s room when he goes to bed.

*

“Goodnight Master Esca,” she tells him. Her smile is soft and luscious.

“Goodnight Mira,” he tells her, with a smile of his own.

*

The summer draws to an end with a battle of heat and flies, unwilling to give up their hold on the world. The first of the tomatoes have ripened to large alluring fruits and Esca plucks one, brings it to his face and inhales.

“They smell like home,” he had told Marcus when he first explained why he needed to plant them. Marcus had laid a hand on his shoulder, thumb running over his tattoo once, and nodded.

“I never had one of those.”

Esca turns, tomato still pressed to his nose.

“Really?” he asks Mira, who holds a basket pressed to her stomach. She shakes her head.

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that. Come.”

There is a heavy granite table beneath the ash tree where Esca and Marcus usually share a light lunch. There is bread, still hot from the ovens, covered by a small towel, a basket filled with apples and figs and a small plate of olives. Esca takes the knife, cuts the tomato in half and sprinkles a little salt on both sides.

“Here,” he tells her and Mira carefully steps closer, watches him lick the salt from his fingers. “Go on. Just bite into it, it is good I promise you.”

Mira takes a bite, the firm flesh splitting beneath her teeth, releasing juice that dribbles down her chin. She makes a startled noise and tries to capture the liquid in her hand.

“Well?” Esca asks, after he is done laughing.

Her eyes are wide in wonder. “It tastes like captured sunlight,” she tells him softly.

“Yes,” Esca says, after a pause. “I suppose it does. I want you to come here every few days and pluck only the red tomatoes. And every time you do, you must keep one for yourself.”

Mira casts her gaze down, still holding the fruit in both hands. “Thank you,” she murmurs, before silently making her way back to the villa.

*

“Like captured sunlight, hm?”

Esca twitches, and turns. Marcus steps out from between the tall tomato plants. He smiles but his eyes are tight as he watches Mira’s retreating back, wiry muscles rolling in her calves and beneath her thin tunic.

“You seem to be warming up to her,” Marcus says, snatching the tomato off the table before Esca can take it. He grins, bites into it and sees Esca’s eyes follow the drip of juice flow down his chin before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “These are very good.”

“She only knows the hand of a Master,” Esca tells Marcus. “She needs to learn the hand of a friend.”

Marcus laughs but it sounds hollow reflected against the canopy of leaves over their heads. “I doubt that is what she has in mind.”

 

*

Marcus remains beneath the tree until the sun sinks toward its resting place. His hands have busied themselves with carving a small horse from a piece of wood and he blows the last of the sawdust from his fingers. He doesn’t understand. Esca has always been a bit of a mystery. Even the few words he does say need to mulled over and thought about before their full meaning becomes clear. But he seems to like the girl now, seems to encourage her settling into their lives. He joins Marcus for their daily activities, as if nothing ever changed. But his eyes are still dark and his jaw is still lined with tension. It makes Marcus want to reach out and kneed his hands into those shoulders that look hard and burdened with times past. Nothing has changed and everything is different. It sits heavy in his stomach, to hear him laugh with Mira and only smile at him with guarded eyes. It weighs him down and makes him feel like there is a wall between them no mortal hands can tear down.

*

Mira learns that tomatoes indeed, smell like home.

*

He listens to them at night, instead of praying to his house gods.

*

“Where are you from?” Esca’s voice drifts through the house, on the first night of rain they have had in a long time.

“I don’t know,” Mira tells him, and Marcus knows, even though he can’t see her, that her hands are folded in her lap. Esca probably plays with his knife. Or peels an apple with it, rolling it between his long fingers.

“My former Mistress says it must have been somewhere warm, that is why my skin is so dark.”

“Were you born in slavery?”

“No. I remember some things. I remember earth as yellow as the sun. I remember deep voices singing outside around a fire. But I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I am here.”

“What would you do if you were free?”

There is a shuffle, a desperate sound. Marcus knows she is on her knees now.

“Don’t send me away,” Mira whispers, voice thick with unshed tears. “I have nowhere to go. I have no one, please don’t. Don’t send me away Master Esca. Do I not please you? I’ll do anything, anything-.”

“Shh.”

Is his hand in her hair?

“Shh, no one is sending you away. You are a good girl, it’s all right. Go to bed now, no- don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. Go on, find something to eat in the kitchens and go to bed.”

*

Marcus steps into the night, instantly becoming drenched to his skin, uncaring or maybe unfeeling. Water rivulets from his hair onto his face, but he doesn’t wipe it away.

*

“Why were you sold?”

“I think,” her cheeks are burning, she doesn’t look at Marcus and her voice drops to a whisper. “I think my former Master was waiting for me to grow up. My Mistress didn’t approve.”

“I see.”

*

At the edge of the garden, the stream widens a little, three large rocks keeping most of the current away, creating a small circular pond. Marcus sits chest deep in the water, a soft drizzle raining down, but the water itself warm enough to keep the cold at bay. He is watching Esca, kneeling bare chested underneath the ancient chestnut tree. He does this every year, at the turn of summer to autumn. There is nothing there but a stone, smooth, half round, sticking out of the ground. He would sit there, dig his fingers into the earth, lips moving in silent conversation. He never tells Marcus why, and Marcus never asks. It would feel like breaking an old promise. He makes sure to never notice, if Esca’s eyes are red on this day.

But he always watches.

Esca bends down one more time, pressing his forehead into the earth. He remains like that and Marcus can count the ribs through the skin on his back. His tattoos ripple over his arms when he finally rises and walks straight toward Marcus.

Esca doesn’t bother removing his breeches. He just wades into the stream, crosses, and sits down. Marcus watches the dirt rinse from his fingers. Their shoulders touch, Esca’s is cold.

*

“I know this is an odd question.”

“What?” Mira laughs, it sounds like music bouncing off the walls.

“Can I just touch it?”

“What?” she demands again, her mouth still stretched in a wide grin.

“Look!” Esca tells her, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “I would just like to touch your hair.”

“Fine, go on then.” She bends down a little and he reaches out.

“Oh. I thought it would be coarser. But it is soft.”

Now Mira rolls her eyes. “Go eat your dinner before it cools.”

*

Marcus wonders if it is time to draw the shutters, a sudden chill settling on the back of his neck.

*

“Mira?” Esca rubs his eyes, the moonlight a single beam of illumination in his room. “Is that you?”

“Master Esca,” she says, voice low. She steps into the light and out of her tunic.

Esca blinks. He sits up, slowly rises to his feet. He bends down and lifts the tunic to her shoulders again, pressing a single kiss to her forehead.

“You don’t have to do this. Not for me.” He tells her, when she clasps the fabric with both hands.

“But I want to,” she tells him, voice wavering.

“This is not me Mira. Please, go back to bed.”

*

Marcus sees her leave Esca’s room. Esca doesn’t speak to Marcus for days.

*

“I am giving you your freedom, Mira.”

“No, Master Marcus you can’t!” Her eyes are wide, filling with tears she never allowed to fall before now. “What have I done to displease you? Please tell me, I will make it up to you.”

“No. You don’t understand. You can remain here, you can work, we will pay you a wage. But you will have your freedom. You will have … a choice. If you wish. I mean, to marry and have children and-.” He dips his head, can’t look at her. He tries to smile, encouragingly, but ends up turning on his heels and walking away.

*

The stillness stretches for days and it almost makes Marcus wish they were back in the Caledonian wilds. Almost. Because terrible as it was, at least there, Esca was his. Now, Esca is a shade that haunts their house with silence. Even Mira feels it, moves with a care that has the feel of an upcoming storm.

*

Marcus plucks the apples from their small orchard, Esca gathers the walnuts and Mira makes them into pies, bread and relish.

*

“I will only be gone for a few days. Winter will come early this year and we need supplies.”

Marcus pulls himself into Celer’s saddle, feeling a steadying hand to the small of his back when his leg gives a painful twinge. Esca’s horse is waiting patiently for Marcus to take his reins. He will need it to help carry the load.

“It makes no difference you know,” Esca tells him and his mouth is still hard, but there is a sadness in his eyes Marcus can’t seem to look into.

“What do you mean?”

“Giving Mira her freedom. She will still feel obliged to have you, afraid you will turn her out if you don’t.”

“What are you talking about?” Marcus asks.

Esca shrugs. “You’re only fooling your conscience.”

Marcus doesn’t understand. “Mira is free to do as she pleases. I didn’t do this for my conscience. I did this for her.” He grits his teeth. “And for you,” he adds, before kicking Celer into a trot.

Is it possible Esca still doesn’t know? Marcus wants to laugh. Of course it is. As much as Esca understands things clearly where other people seem to stare through the fog of life, he never did see what is right in front of him. Yes, he does want to laugh. He would, if the ache in his chest would only ease up a little.

*

His dreams would still play against a background of northern mountains for years to come. Over time they would slowly fill with the scent of a summer garden and the sound of rippling water. Marcus wouldn’t wake up in a cold sweat anymore after that. But sometimes, sometimes he would wake up with a tightness in his chest and an image burned to his eyelids before he opened them, of a face more dear than any other.

It is cruel how feeling so fiercely can be so painful.

*

The fire casts orange glows over the tiles of the atrium when Marcus returns with the first flakes of winter on his shoulders. Esca leads the horses to the stables and Mira helps Marcus out of his cloak. She leads him to a seat, bringing him warmed wine with cloves and raisin buns.

*

By the time Esca joins him near the fire, Marcus’s head is swimming from exhaustion and wine. The heat brings color back to his cramped fingers and pale cheeks, the alcohol making his lips tingle pleasantly.

“How was your trip?” Esca asks him, stretching his own bare feet toward the flames. There is a nasty bruise on the arch of his left foot.

“How did that happen?” Marcus asks, ignoring Esca’s question and leaning forward. “That looks broken.”

“Oh it isn’t,” Esca says, wiggling his toes but wincing all the same. “I was going to tell you in the morning, but well…”

“What?”

“Shall I tell you or show you?”

Marcus feels giddy with the delight on Esca’s face. It is bottled up, contained, but he knows this man. Enough to appreciate what is really going on inside him if it makes the firelight reflect off his skin like a sunrise.

“Show me,” he says and rises to his feet. He sways a little and Esca lays a hand on his shoulder with a small chuckle, steadying him.

“Where are we going?” Marcus asks, feeling the warmth of the hand spread through him.

“Outside.”

Marcus groans, but follows him anyway.

*

His breath catches somewhere between his chest and his throat.

“What is this?” he asks, voice strangled with the lack of air, as he stares at the white horse in their stables.

“A young mare,” Esca tells him. His voice is soft, but it wavers with uncertainty. His eyes are searching Marcus’s face, but he doesn’t notice. Marcus is silent for a long time, until he finally reaches for the horse. She lifts her head and nuzzles his palm, before he pulls it away, fisting it to his side.

“I hope,” Marcus says, chin lifted and already turning toward the door, “that you are very happy together.” He leaves the stables and disappears into his room.

*

 

Marcus nearly trips over Mira, who is building a fire in his hearth.

“Mira,” he says, steading himself with one hand against the wall while she straightens.

“Mast-, eh Marcus. I was just making sure your fire would last through the night.”

“Yes. Thank you. I think I should say, well-.” He clears his throat, the words taste like a sour apple and he can’t bite through them. “Do you know how to ride a horse?” he asks instead.

“I- no, I don’t,” Mira says, looking a little bewildered. “I mean, I’ve never ridden one by myself.”

“I’m sure Esca will teach you once winter has passed. It is a beautiful mare.”

“I… suppose so.” Mira begins to edge out of the room, but Marcus lays a hand on her wrist.

“He’s a good man, Mira,” he says in nothing more than a whisper. “Take care of him.”

He doesn’t understand the wetness in her eyes as she flees from his chambers.

*

Marcus is already outside by the time Esca wakes the next morning. The first snow has thawed already, and late autumn doesn’t seem quite ready to give up its hold on the world just yet. Marcus has to strip out of his tunic half way through the pile of wood he is chopping and his bare skin glistens with sweat as it reflects the weakened sunlight.

“Need a hand?” Esca asks him from the pavilion when Marcus takes a break to wipe his forehead. He startles, and stills before shaking his head. With a stubborn set to his mouth he lifts the large axe over his head and lets it fall with a graceful arc. The wood splits in two even pieces and he tosses them to the side. It is soothing, the burn of his muscles, the repetitive motion, the sound of the axe drowning out all of his thoughts. The only thing he can’t seem to be distracted from, is the regretful ache in his chest. It digs deeper and deeper with every passing hour, with every piece of lumber that fractures beneath his swing. Until the sun is high in the sky and his mouth is too parched to ignore. He leans the axe against the pile of wood and wipes the sawdust of his hands and face.

Only when he turns around does he notice Esca still watching him. The way the sky reflects in his eyes makes Marcus’s throat seize closed and he can’t help himself. He walks toward him and brushes Esca’s jaw with his knuckles once. He knows what must be visible in his own face, but he no longer cares. It is too late. Esca’s lips part, Marcus traces the movement with his eyes but before Esca can say something, he walks away.

“I will be gone by springtime,” Marcus says, without turning around.

*

His fingers trace the leather straps of his centurion uniform, all signs of battles and wounds and lives taken in bloody rage, carefully rubbed away. The candle light dances in golden patterns on the breastplate and if he closes his eyes and breathes in carefully, he can almost taste the feeling of leading his men into battle.

“I bet it still fits you, you know. You haven’t softened around your waist that much.”

Marcus turns, can’t hide a smirk when he sees Esca leaning against the doorframe, but he doesn’t answer and soon the smile fades away.

“Am I still that man, Esca?” he asks. “Am I still that soldier?”

It isn’t what he means to say, not what he wants to know, but it is as close as he can come to ask for validation. He starts a little when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns.

Esca is beautiful in the candle light, golden like the uniform behind him. His eyes are bright, features sharp one second, hidden the next in the dance of the flame.

“You are strong,” Esca tells him and his voice sounds a little odd. “Because you are Roman. You are courageous, you are Briton. You are kind, you are human.” The hand drops from Marcus’s shoulder to his bare chest until it rests above his heart. They both stare at it for a moment and Marcus knows Esca can feel his heartbeat pick up speed. “You are loved,” Esca whispers, his fingertips digging into the skin, leaving pale indentations.

“Am I?” Marcus whispers and for a moment the night seems bright as day as his world spins on its axis.

“Yes.”

“But the horse…” Marcus brings a hand up, rests it on Esca’s forearm. The wiry tendons flutter beneath his fingers.

“Is for you. I know how much you love Celer, I thought you would like to breed. She is feisty.” He finally looks Marcus in the eye and gives him a lopsided grin. “Hence the bruise on my foot.”

“I thought-“ Marcus shakes his head, closes his eyes for a moment because it so much, even though he isn't quite ready to understand it yet. No one ever gets everything they want.

“I know,” Esca says, taking a careful step closer, his fingers now digging half moon nail marks in Marcus’s chest. “You idiot. I know what you thought. I thought the same. We are both idiots, obviously. It took me a long time to work it out, and not until Mira told me you never touched her, never even gave her a hint of interest, did I understand.

“I thought you and Mira-“

Esca shakes his head.

“It is you,” Esca says simply. “Only you.”

*

Even the shadows of midnight seem to give way beneath their hands.

“I feel I should say something,” Marcus murmurs, his hands tracing a wayward line down Esca’s forearm.

“Leave it to a Roman to feel the need for oratory in a moment like this,” Esca grins, but Marcus feels how his skin tuns into goosebumps under his touch.

“What then, is considered appropriate under these circumstances amongst barbarians?” Marcus lifts his eyes, and needs to resist the urge to look away again. The weight of Esca’s gaze is crushing, he feels as if he might buckle to his knees any moment. But he holds fast, almost clamps down on the hand that moves for Esca’s face, until he realizes it is probably all right now, to do this.

He curls his palm around Esca’s neck, who simply says,-

“This.”

*

He doesn’t quite know they have moved until the edge of his bed digs into his knees. It feels almost unnatural that his room remains the same when he opens his eyes again. It should reflect the whirlwind that picked them up, and made their worlds revolve around a whole new axis from the moment their lips met. It should be covered by the ice that touched Marcus’s spine right before the warmth of Esca’s hands burned it away. The fire should have gone out because there can’t possibly be enough oxygen left in the room, if Marcus’s lightheadedness is anything to go by.

Then, Esca is pushing him down and Marcus yields before him like he would yield to no one else. Esca’s long fingers make quick work of any clothing and apprehension that remains. If Marcus shudders with desire and something close to panic when Esca wraps his hand around Marcus’s erection, until he feels like he is falling, then Esca is there to seize him with his mouth.

“Barbarians waste no time, I see,” Marcus says, dragging his lips over teethmarks at Esca’s neck. He means it to sound a little mocking, but he is afraid anything coming out of his mouth right now only resonates like a reverent prayer.

“I have waited too long for this, to waste more time.” Esca tells him and after that, Marcus needs no more words. He trails his lips over the shell of Esca’s ear before pushing against him and turning them over. He leans over, traces every single line of Esca’s chest. He draws invisible tattoos of his own, that will always be there for only them to see. He kisses dawn into Esca’s skin, extracts the truth from his lips with his tongue. He worships the map of his body with his fingers, until they are both wound up and coiled to a point of breaking, and even then, he pushes past it. They lose control in the safety of each other’s arms, and spill their seed into each other’s hands.

But always, always they will return to find that nothing fits together like their mouths.

*

“So”, Marcus says, when the moon finally falls from the sky, his lips trailing over Esca’s temple. “You bring a horse as your dowry, do you?”

“You brute of a Roman,” Esca scolds, shoving at Marcus’s arm. He grins. “Watch me do something nice for you ever again.”

“Oh,” Marcus whispers, Esca’s hairs gently parting against his breath, as he traces Esca’s lips with his fingers. “I fully intend to watch, my little barbarian.”

*

If one evening they finds Esca’s things neatly folded beside Marcus’s in his room, neither of them says anything. If Mira now fills two bowls with water and lemon balm instead of one, and leaves them side by side beneath Marcus’s window, they accept it with a slow smile. If Mira then moves her things from the slave quarters into Esca’s old room, they are both secretly pleased.

When Mira tells Marcus that he too, is a good man and they both deserve to be happy, Marcus has to go chop wood for a whole afternoon before he can swallow past the lump in his throat.

*

Life after that isn’t all that different. The winter is still bitter and harsh, wind howling through the night as if it might chase the last warmth out of the world. Only now, Marcus can press his cheek against Esca’s back when he wakes up well past midnight and Esca will turn over and look at him, and understand.

Maybe he will never get used to being allowed to wrap his arms around Esca in the middle of the day. Maybe he will never get used to how he can act on impulse and reach out to press his mouth against Esca’s, to catch his bottom lip between his own, to hear the soft sigh of contentment from his lungs. Maybe he’ll never get used to the way Esca breathes his name before his whole body goes taut and spills his desire.

Or maybe, maybe he never wants to get used to any of it, at all.

 

 

[Fin]

 

  
___________________________________________________

_"Nothing in the world is single,_

___All things by a law divine_

_In one spirit meet and mingle -_

_Why not I with thine?"_

**Author's Note:**

> [Here at LJ.](http://rufflefeather.livejournal.com/13842.html#cutid1)


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